


Romanticization

by kongduyu



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Just so much love, M/M, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kongduyu/pseuds/kongduyu
Summary: If the bard romanticized that a bit, being held under the starry night, he wasn’t to blame. It was already as romantic as it is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	Romanticization

He had lute strapped to his back and years of adventure under his feet when Jaskier first started his journey. Now, he was older but no wiser to danger, Jaskier mused as he touched the strings of his timeworn lute, not quite playing, just making some sounds to ease his nerves, wound tightly like a string of a harp, waiting to hear the familiar footsteps in the dark forest. It was supposed to be an easy hunt, quick money, but who knew, dark things lingered in forests and nights were always cursed. Just as Jaskier huddled a bit more closer to the fire, he heard a loud thud, making him jump in fright only to see the oh-so-familiar armor next to him.

“Ah, my friend, you’re back!” Jaskier exclaimed, scooting a bit to make more place next to the fire.

He wasn't expecting an answer and Geralt didn't give him one as he dropped his body to the ground. The witcher was holding a sizable claw in his hand, he didn't look injured but the bard took a second look to be sure. Geralt looked back. His eyes held a certain kind of softness, untold gratitude. Jaskier, through it all, learned how to listen to the silence. He didn't want to romanticize it but there was a little bit of charm in the words eyes could carry. Geralt wasn't a man of many words but he was very outspoken with his actions, leaving no doubt of his intentions.

“It was an Amarok” Geralt began. “Just one, it’s rare to see a pack of them,” he added like a hum as he got comfortable on the dirt floor. Jaskier leaned on him cheekily and smiled up at the unimpressed witcher. “Does that mean we’re getting a room next town?” 

Geralt hummed, more amused then not, and nudged Jaskier with his elbow towards his bedroll, “Sleep, we have to move early.”

And as the fire dimmed and night embraced the small camp, Jaskier only had to shiver once before a heavy arm settled on him in his thick blanket, pulling him into a warm body. If the bard romanticized that a bit, being held under the starry night, he wasn’t to blame. There was a certain type of belonging in those arms and an untold sentiment from both sides. Jaskier burrowed into that stolen moment, cuddling into that warmness, feigning sleep, knowing that the witcher could tell anyway, it didn’t matter. 

* * *

  
  


In the mornings, Jaskier was used to this scene. A broad back, on top of a beautiful hare, moving forward, almost away from him but a step closer. At first, many years ago, the bard was constantly worrying that the witcher would leave him behind, take that step and disappear from sight yet instead, now he got Geralt glancing back at him every few steps, checking if Jaskier was there, as if worried that Jaskier would be the one to disappear. The road was loud with them, Jaskier strumming his lute, making crude rhymes for the fun of it and Geralt, allowing himself to be entertained, telling the bard off with every new outrageous lyric. The noises would dim as they get closer to a village step by step, Geralt would hang his head, his mouth would form a snarl, to hide from the hands of men. Jaskier loved the villages, people, and life in it but hated the eyes of them, staring at his witcher with fear that shouldn’t fit on him. The bard long ago stopped trying to cheer up the witcher with his antics at the entrance of any towns, he learned how to listen to the silence of his witcher in the end. Now he was fighting the fight of a witcher, and his name. Be it with songs or his fists, he wanted Geralt to keep on smiling as if it’s dark in the forest and no one can see them or hear them.

After stepping into the village, it was easier, rather than the tension of expectation, actually hearing the hushed whispers of the villager and feeling their gazes on them were oddly better. The worst part of getting beaten up was waiting for the first punch always, Jaskier would know. 

In front of a small stable, Jaskier broke away from his thoughts as a heavy sack hit him in the chest. He caught the coin filled purse clumsily and snapped his eyes to the Witcher who was already on the ground, eyes amused.

“Get us a room bard” Geralt broke the silence. Cradling the coin purse in his hands, looking up to the golden honey eyes, Jaskier found himself soften at the notion that, they didn’t have to be here, in an unknown village that would bring them no coin. Or a room that the witcher would sleep with his one eye open, to prevent any superstitious villager to try their luck on the witcher and his bard. It was for the bard that Geralt was here, just a step away from Jaskier but so far. This, Jaskier could romanticize without meaning to, even if he tried to push it far back into his heart, the low strumming in his chest made him take a step further. And one more step.

Geralt didn’t move an inch. As is soft breeze touching a mountain, the witcher didn’t even move a muscle as the bard put his hand on his chest. The golden eyes crossed as Jaskier tiptoed to put a gentle kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth unhurriedly. 

“And dinner perhaps?” Jaskier asked with a high pitch, heart drumming in his ears as he dropped down to his heels. His hands once again cradling the purse, this time trembling with the force of his harsh grip and just like that, his nerves snapped open like a strained lute string as his witcher wrapped an arm on his waist, pulling him in once more. With a proper kiss on his mouth, Jaskier felt his body melt into the feeling. It was quick, almost too ruthless for a first kiss but was it the first kiss really? Wasn’t it a kiss when his witcher held him at nights even when the chill hadn’t settled in yet or when he shoved him behind himself in the face of danger? Wasn’t it a kiss when the bard pulled his fist on people who dared to talk down on his witcher? And wasn’t it a kiss writing hundreds and thousands of love songs for the man he promised to follow down to hell and back? 

Oh, Jaskier could romanticize this. It was already as romantic as it is.

“Hm, and dinner.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long while since I wrote anything and I hope it wasn't as clumsy as I thought it was. Just a practice piece I made to get back to writing slowly. I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to give feedback and comments they are always appreciated.


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